Retcon
by Redrose999
Summary: Jack's mysterious past catches up with him. Why has it been erased from his memory and from time itself? And who is this mysterious woman who claims she's dead like Owen Harper? Spoilers for FMA series one and movie, TW series one and two and DW
1. Chapter 1

A Torchwood /Fullmetal Alchemist Crossover

Retcon

Prologue:  
Silhouettes  
London 2007

The room was inky black, and Captain John Hart entered with caution. Its high-lofted ceilings were once grand, painted ivory and gold, but were now covered with peeling paint, gray-black with decay. He could smell the distinct stench of death as he crossed the marble floor to the grand heavy red tapestry canopy bed at the end of the room. The only other furniture in the room was a Victorian carved tea table, dresser and vanity with a shattered mirror. At one time the room, the entire house, had been important to its occupant, but 80 years had worn care away, leaving both broken and unattended.

Only a single candle burned near the bed, cloaking the figure there in creeping shadows and flickering gold light. "Did you bring it?" Its voice was low, ancient and filled with desire and need.

John lifted the package in his hands and offered a smile. "Right here, it was a bit costly for a piece of junk." As he spoke, he stopped at the bedside and tossed the bundle on the person's lap. "It's seen better days, like you luv."

"So you don't find me the lovely flower you rescued all those years ago? My valiant Captain John, you've broken my heart." The head moved, and John could make out the rotting features of what was once a lovely heart shaped face, with piercing blue eyes.

"Of course I do luv, it's all about what's in the heart." John told her, smiling briefly, yet obviously repulsed. Not that he was prejudiced against walking cadavers as such, but he was rather partial to smoother skin. And 80 years ago, Dante had been gorgeous. "Pity about that rotting disease. Immortality with a price, not my cup of tea."

"That's because my people only half understood what we were doing." She said voice rasping. Slowly her knotted and twisted fingers unwrapped the package. "You gathered it all?"

"Well, there is no telling what the currents did to the debris, it was at the bottom of Bristol Channel, but my people were thorough." John told her. "So, all those tablets and artifacts I picked up for you give you anything useful?"

"Oh yes, very useful." She looked up, a faint smile flickering across her face, making it look even more like a grinning skull as the package fell completely open. The fragmented pieces of a metal gauntlet glinted in the candlelight. "It seems all my investments have paid off."

John shifted slightly, watching the woman. He wasn't sure what she was referring too. The glove most likely, but with Dante, it could mean almost anything. "So, are you ready to give me the answers I need?"

Dante lifted the glove up, and studied it lovingly. "Yes, yes, it's time now. I can feel it in my bones John. All my preparation over these years has finally come together. It's time to retake my place in this world. I just need you to do me one more favor."

John shifted uneasily. The woman was damned spooky sometimes, and he wondered if it was worth rescuing her all those years ago. All he had empty promises so far, and small tidbits of information that told him nothing. He drew a breath and gave a slight nod. "Anything luv, what do you need?"

"Lucy Saxon."

The candle flickered out, and John felt a chill in the room.

"Lucy Saxon? You're mad, luv, woman is with him and he's completely round the bend. I don't know if I can touch her with a ten foot pole." He leaned forward. "Can't it be someone else? We've got a entire galaxy filled with bodies and souls, why does it have to be her?"

"You damn well know why, Time Agent. She's traveled with one of them; she bears the mark of his soul, that's why. I need him, do you understand?" Dante smiled devilishly. "And with this, I have something to bargain with! Equivalent Exchange, John, it's all about equivalent exchange. Now, bring me Lucy Saxon! And then we can talk about your Captain Jack Harkness!"

*&*&*  
One year later.  
Cardiff 2008, Torchwood  
Captain Jack Harkness

It was late Friday evening, and Jack Harkness settled in at his desk to finish off a little paperwork so he could start the following week with a clean slate.

The office wasn't too big, made of brick, and cement. It looked more like a hodgepodge from an anarchistic garage sale than an office of the head executive of a super-secret black operations organization. An antique colonial cabinet with crystal wine glasses and bottles sat near steel-railed stairs leading down into the heart of the hub. Hanging on the walls like artwork were light panels with x-rays and high tech monitoring devices. Clear futuristic display cabinets sat against the wall, filled with exotic alien plants and other biologicals that had fallen into Jack's hands over the years. Beside the clear green-lit cabinets were 100 year old wooden file cabinets handed down from Torchwood's early days.

Jack's large cherrywood desk was cluttered, with two lamps on either end. Paperwork and abandoned folders were stacked near a small tank with a glowing crystal on one side of the desk. Next to the tank was an antique snow globe. Across from his desk, on the battered brick wall, was a monitor. It blinked with views of the Oval Basin and fountain. It was as silent outside as it was in. Even the tourists were avoiding the bitter weather.

The safe near the stairwell entrance was closed and the shades to the glass window over looking the hub were wide open, allowing Jack to look out over the hub. He had thought about changing the décor in the past, but Jack was more of a field man than a desk jockey and his tastes varied from high tech to vintage. The style started by the founding fathers (or mothers in Queen Victoria's case) suited him just fine. It said something about him really. One desk, a few file cabinets and scattered computer and monitoring equipment and an oak hat/coat rack said that Jack Harkness meant business in any era. Even if that business was paperwork.

After a week filled with rift activity, it was easy to fall behind, and Jack actively avoided it, leaving most of it to Ianto, who seemed to thrive on the stuff. Recently, however, Jack had come to realize that if he piled up too much work on Ianto, he'd have less time on Jack's special employee-incentive program. So, he took it upon himself to taking some of the work himself.

Most of it was signing off on expenses. Torchwood used more than its share of equipment, everything from bullets and high tech computer components to medical supplies. Not to mention the reports; he usually took charge of recording them, aware as he was of the need to say only what was necessary. Torchwood's backers never took things lightly, and weren't themselves field agents, and so often the less they knew, the better.

Currently he was struggling with just the right way to word a letter to UNIT about Gwen Cooper's investigation concerning rift disappearances in Cardiff. It had stirred up more than a few people and threatened one of Jack's secret projects. In the past, for security and political reasons, Jack had hidden the institution he built to tend to rift victims under Torchwood House's, UNIT's and Torchwood London's radar. Gwen's investigation exposed Jack's secret operation and he was required to explain why the place existed and how it wasn't a waste of resources and how it helped them to prepare for the 21st century.

UNIT's Colonel Mace wasn't happy and wanted an explanation and Jack wanted to find out a way to explain the situation with the least friction. Gwen after all, did do the right thing, and her dedication to doing the right thing was why he hired her in the first place.

Most of the money paying for the institution was out of Jack's own pocket. Yet that fact didn't stop Torchwood's supporters from viewing it as a potential threat to their goals; it was attention and effort being devoted to something that was not, as far as they were concerned, going to be of any use in protecting the world from the numerous threats that only Torchwood could deal with.

This was not how Jack liked to spend his Friday nights, especially with Ianto Jones picking up the hub and monitoring the rift equipment below. If he didn't have all this to do, they could have been out with Tosh, Owen, Gwen and Rhys, playing pool, or visiting the theater, or having a nice romantic dinner.

Yet paperwork just piled up if you ignored it to go on dates or play pool with friends. Jack missed working as a field agent. They had more freedom, and less responsibility. So many things to do on a Friday night, a shame he was locked up in his castle under the street.

"I brought in those boxes we need to go though from Torchwood one." Ianto Jones's voice drew Jack's attention as the younger dark haired man hauled a large box into Jack's office. He carefully dropped it on the former Time Agent's desk and gave him a weak smile. "Since I've got you sitting still for once, I thought it might be a good idea of go over the inventory salvaged from Torchwood One's storage room."

Somehow, Ianto always managed to make work sound sexy. Maybe it was the way he curled is lips when he said the words 'good idea', or perhaps it was those dark blue expressive eyes and how they looked right into his when he spoke. Regardless, Jack Harkness couldn't help but smile and be ready and willing to distract himself with any task offered by Ianto Jones. "Once I'm done with this report." Jack replied. "It will just take a bit."

"That's fine." Ianto told him. "I have a few more folders to go though and boxes to bring up."

A few boxes would be enough to last the evening, Jack thought. When Torchwood One burned, a great deal of the material held there was damaged in the fire, and records were lost. Any kind of inventory work was a chore.

Jack nodded and lowered his pen to the table as he watched Ianto leave the little brick office and vanish down the stairs to the lower levels. "Sure, I'll just sit here and look pretty!" he called down with a smirk.

He did need a distraction. He looked down at the report and considered it. He had signed everything that needed to be signed. It was just a matter of explaining Gwen's actions and the hospital he set up, or not explaining them, which he decided was the best course of action. The less they knew about his people the better.

Putting the report to the side, Jack studied the large cardboard box. It was about three feet long and a foot and a half wide, and by the thud it made, the former Time Agent was certain it was heavy. The label on it was scorched and the box itself had scoring and soot covering its top and sides.

Standing Jack slowly removed the lid and quickly moved aside a black cloth from the contents of the box. Jack lifted a brow, at what he saw. Limbs, two of them, a cybernetic arm and leg made of metal armor and intricate gears with fine micro wires at the cushioned joints. It was battered, with scrapes and dents on the armored shell, and Jack tried to place what race he came from. In his time he had seen many cybernetic or robotic races; Cybermen, Daleks and the Movellans first came to mind.

Gently reaching down he picked up the arm limb and studied it. It was heavy, with moving joints and he'd have to take it apart to get a closer look at the wiring and gears within. Something Tosh could do when she got in. He shook his head; it was too primitive to be Movellan and far too small for a cyberman in any of their incarnations. The owner wouldn't be more than five feet tall. The examination told him the prosthetic connected at the shoulder, there were ports that would slot into what he guessed was a metal plate surgically implanted on the arm owner. The design was … peculiar, that was the only word for it. Offhand, he couldn't see how it was possible for the thing to work at all, and he'd seen all sorts of technology in his time.

The hand was humanoid, five fingers, fully articulated in the standard human design. There also seemed to be droplets of dried red liquid and strains of fibers in the hand joints.

It was, interesting, and Jack decided he'd have Gwen do a forensic analysis before handing it off to Tosh and Owen for systems study. If it were a prosthetic both of them would figure out how it worked and if it was useful to their cause. Any advancement in medicine was an interest to Owen Harper, so Jack figured the arm would keep him and Tosh happy and distracted from the last few months for quite some time.

"I found these with the box." Ianto said. "There isn't to much to go on. The prosthetics came though the rift during the ghost shifts…" He flopped a folder down on the table. "This is what's left of the records they kept on the functioning of the limbs. Not much – a lot of it was waterlogged and lost." Ianto placed another box down in front of Jack's desk and sat into the chair acrtoss from Jack.

"At least we have something, even partial lab reports can tell us something." Jack said as he returned the limb to the box and picked up the folder. He flipped it open.

Subject 2046A, the file said, but what drew Jack's attention was a picture on the corner of the file. It was an image of a face, young, long golden hair, generally human but with piercing, eerie golden eyes that seemed to cut though him.

Jack Harkness felt himself suddenly feel sick, that gut wrenching worried sick that seemed to hamper him when one of his team went out on a particularly dangerous mission without him. Wrinkling his brow , he tried to place the source of the feeling as he studied the face. It was angry, he thought, and young, very young, small, small like the limbs he thought. Jack sat down heavily. "Subject 2046A."

Subject 2046A had a name, he was certain of it, but Torchwood had a way of making names disappear, especially when it came to people and things who came though the rift. There were 17 in the cells when Jack Harkness took over Torchwood 3, likely far more burned in the cells when Torchwood one went down.

"Yes, that is what the file says. He was almost indistinguishable from Earth Humans, except for the eyes." Ianto explained, coming to a stand and looking into the folder with Jack. "Jack, is there something wrong?"

The problem was that Jack Harkness wasn't sure if there was something wrong. He stared long and hard at the picture, his mind playing phantom images from a blurry distant past.

A boy's smile, a flash of red and blue lightning, angry gold eyes, white fire, a dark haired woman…

He blinked and lifted a hand to his face puzzled. "I'm not sure. Something about…."

He trailed as he ran a finger across the data on the file: male, humanoid, aggressive, level 5 threat, internal cybernetic implants, telekinesis on a sub atomic level…

No, no that was wrong. Jack's frown grew, there was something gnawing at the back of his mind as he returned his attention to the picture and glanced back at Ianto. "I know this kid."

Ianto looked puzzled and took the file from his hand. "But that's not possible, is it? He came through he rift on February 4th 2006 at Torchwood One and was held there until he was transferred to cold storage before the Cybermen invasion.. He was never in Cardiff, Jack. Says here he has a code A clearance which means only top personnel from Torchwood One even knew he existed. Unless that is you knew him … before…"

Ianto was trying to help, and Jack knew he was right, he had lived a very long time, long enough to have met the person in question and have forgotten it: like Gray. Taking the folder from Ianto yet again, Jack peered at the image and tapped his knee with his free hand. The boy in the image was attractive, but Jack was sure he was not a lover, pity; they didn't get along, Jack was certain of that.

He was also sure he had met him on Earth… and not during his years with Torchwood.

Which really left only one possibility…

The Rift…

He paused glancing down at the file and flipped pages, just to see if there were any notations concerning Cardiff. And found omly waterlogged pages and faded computer printouts. Nothing.

Music sweat mellow Jazz tunes and a phonograph , a kitten, a tree, a child's laugh…

And a void of black nothing. Jack Harkness' features paled and he slowly lowered the file onto the table. There was a black hole in his life. Two yearsmwere taken from him for reasons he did not know. Two years, and that brought him back to the Time Agency and the life he lived before the Torchwood before the Doctor and before he was the man he wanted to be….

A century ago, he wouldn't have hesitated jumping into investigating his missing years, but John's reappearance and his own resolve to forget the years he lived as a conman and criminal made him suddenly very reluctant. Gwen, Tosh, Ianto, and Owen saw him as a very different man now, not a Time Agent or a criminal and he had fought very hard to keep his past buried.

Jack stood in silence, and traced his fingers over the picture, struggling for a name, but found nothing but questions and worry. Helpless he looked at Ianto. He wanted to just let it go, like he did Gray, but a part of him just couldn't. Something told him the past wouldn't go away until he found answers. "See if you can find where they stored 2640A; as I recall, they were diverting all projects unrelated to the void capsule elsewhere. Give Archie a call. See if they transferred anything to Glasgow or to Torchwood Two."

Ianto nodded and placed a hand on Jack's. The younger man looked worried, and Jack couldn't blame him. "All right. What should I do if I find anything? And is this something you're going to want me to hide from the others?"

Those lovely cornflower blue eyes peered at him with regret yet were unquestionably loyal and Jack felt a pang of guilt. Ianto had sacrificed so much for him, and to ask him to lie for him would be unfair. "No, no need for that." Jack brushed his lover's cheek with his thumb, and leaned in for a kiss. "If you find something, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

No questions, thank you Ianto, because I have no answers, just ghosts.

*&*&*  
Dr Owen Harper

Smoke swirling, laugher, the brush of warm bodies, the smell of sweat and the gentle scent of perfume were meaningless.

Rhys and Gwen left an hour before with Tosh, leaving Owen Harper to himself in the crowded pub. He wasn't ready to go back to his flat and spend the night staring at his TV or reading. He just wanted to pretend he was the same man he was before by living vicariously though the people around him.

It had been only a few months ago that Owen Harper was shot dead and resurrected using alien technology by Jack Harkness. No one anticipated the results; Owen was now aware and living in a body that was essentially dead.

The room was a dimly lit with an oak bar that stretched the room with several table and pool tables in the back. The music was loud, and there was the strong sent of perfume and sweat. Couples danced, closely together on the dance floor and were bathed by changing lights and a flickering strobe. It was the erotic ballet of the living and something Owen Harper longed for.

If someone asked him if there was life after death, Owen would have informed them that only a clawing blackness awaited and he was far better not alive than dead. He could still make a difference even in his limbo condition.

Thoughtful, Owen Harper stared deep into the glass of ale he was pretending to drink and eyed the shapely dark-haired woman sitting on the bar stool before him. She was a looker, tall with a heart-shaped face that was both innocent and seductive at the same time. She wore a tight red leather mini and a loose white v-neck blouse that dipped low enough that he could see ample cleavage when she picked up her wine glass. She had a head full of long wavy black hair that trickled in ringlets down her back past her rump.

In the past he would have said something, a woman like that needed to be appreciated and he would have happily spent the evening worshiping her in his bed. But those days were gone and Owen Harper found himself just looking and wondering what it would be like to live again in a human body that could enjoy the pleasures of the flesh.

Eating, drinking, sleeping, and enjoying the touch of a lovely woman… Sex, oh he missed sex the most.

Bloody well hopeless I am, mooning over days gone, I need to find a better way to spend my evenings.

The doctor sighed and went to put some money on the counter as he stood up.

"Leaving so soon?" The dark haired beauty asked. Her eyes were violet and her full lips were a bright red against pale skin. "I was hoping to have someone to talk with tonight." She added, crossing her legs and leaning an arm across the bar before her. "Do you know what it's like to be alone in a crowd? Sometimes I feel that way and it makes me wonder, what the point of all this is."

The edge of Owen's lips curled and he looked the woman over. "There are just some things you have to live with."

Longing glinted in her gaze, and Owen decided to snuff out any thoughts of a chance encounter by being blunt and to the point. "You're a lovely lady, Miss. But I'm not interested, if you want a shag, you better find another mate."

And why was that one of the hardest things he had to do? He didn't feel anything, his body was a blank, no arousal no excitement. Looking at an attractive woman felt the same as looking at a poodle.

It was hard because his consciousness wasn't there yet. His mind said she was damned gorgeous and it would be a shame he didn't drag her to his flat and shag the shit out of her.

"Who said anything about shagging? I said talk. I saw the cute little thing you were with tonight, the Asian woman who looked at you like a lover. I have no interest in being a homewrecker." The woman sipped at her drink. "But if you don't want to talk, I guess I'll have to find someone else?"

Years of working in psychology taught Owen how to read a person's posture and see beyond their words. This woman was smart . She wanted something and sex was only a small part of it. She was toying with him. Owen's brow narrowed. He liked games. The intellectual pursuit of cat and mouse was exciting. Owen returned to his seat and picked up his glass again. "All right, I can listen if that's what you want."

She grinned. "Are you going to drink your whiskey, or just look at it from another hour?"

So, she had been watching him that closely. Owen swirled the liquid in the glass and shook his head. "Got it and realized I wasn't that thirsty after all." He put the glass back down, and watched her sip. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a hint of a tattoo on her chest, just under the fabric of her blouse. "Nice tattoo. So, do you have a name?"

"Do you have any sins?" She countered, pulling her shirt over her tattoo. "It's just a little thing I got in London."

"Oroborus." Owen observed. "Serpent eating devouring it's own tail, representing the cyclic nature of the natural world, unity, infinity and the human psyche in some psychological circles. As for sins, I've got them all. You? Still don't have a name either."

She leaned back and slid one leg down the other. "The Oroborus I would like to think of it as a symbol of the eternal unity of all things, the cycle of birth and death from which men seek release and liberation. Isn't that what we all want? Release and liberation? As for sins, I have more than you, trust me."

For a long moment, Owen sat in silence, considering her words. She was speaking about him and his desire for release from his current situation. Liberation from undeath, to feel, to live, to breath again and to be the man he was. He frowned. How did she know? How in hell was that possible? "That all depends. Some of us are resigned there will be no release."

"But there is always hope isn't there?" The woman took another sip of her wine and ran her tongue along her lips and teeth. "Or are you too grown up for hope?"

"Man's never too old for hope." Owen replied. He stretched his legs and placed his heels on the floor. "Hope has nothing to do with what is scientifically possible. One can hope gravity fails to work if they're falling out of a plane without a parachute. It's not going to happen."

Well, with the things he had seen Owen Harper was pretty sure somewhere out there someone had something capable of changing the forces of gravity but he wasn't going to place money on it if he was the one falling out of the plane.

The woman finished her wine, and dropped some change on the counter and came to a stand. "I once heard a young man say with science man would defeat death itself and make us Gods." Her smile became thin as she leaned just so her ruby lips were a breath from his ear. "And you're not in the position to deny it Dr. Harper, when you're the walking dead man."

And she was gone.

Owen Harper stiffened, steady gaze shifting to the crowd and he could just make out the faint flash of her dark wavy hair as she weaved though the patrons toward the door.

How in hell did she know? he asked himself again. It's really not that obvious unless you…

And then he realized what his subconscious must have recognized all along. For all the time he'd watched her, looked at her, seen that magnificent cleavage, her chest had not moved at all, not a single millimeter, except when she was talking.

She doesn't breathe.

The dark haired doctor immediately jumped to his feet, and quickly shouldered his way though the mingling crowd to reach the door. "Hey! Wait!"

He waved at her, in an attempt to get her attention, but she was ignoring him now. No good, just as he got to the door and stepped out into the street he saw her vanish into a cab and drive off.

With a curse Owen spun and slammed his fist into a light post. Twice just to be sure. Typical, strange woman steps into his life teases him until he's up and gives him a hefty case of blue balls. "FUCK!"

It had to be some kind of trap, he thought. Why else did she say it? After all, few things would get to Owen Harper, someone knowing about his condition was one of them. He fumbled out his mobile as he eyed the cab and memorized the plate numbers. The woman knew something, maybe about the glove or the forces behind it! Trap or not, he had to take the bait and he'd be damned if he lost her.

He'd have Tosh hack into the cab records, check his fares, and see where he dropped the woman off. Quickly he walked his way down the dark and silent Cardiff streets, ignoring the glass window shops and restaurants as he went by. His red sports car was parked in front of a particularly colorful café, not far from the pub and by the time he finished dialing Tosh, he was there. The phone rang several time and clicked into the answering machine. "Tosh, Tosh, if you're there pick up."

He leaned against his car, and tapped the roof waiting, than frustrated, pulled open his door and dropped into the driver's seat. There was a click on the phone line and the very sleepy, but helpful voice of Toshiko Sato came over the line. "Owen? I'm so sorry, I was sleeping… What can I do for you?"

"Right…" Owen could imagine her as she fumbled on her glasses and looked for her pocket PC. He checked his watch. "About 10 minutes to two, that's about three minutes ago, a Capital cab picked up a woman in front of the Borough Arms 8 St. Mary's street…"

"Yes, Yes, where we were last night, I mean this morning… Do you have the number of the cab?"

Her voice was clearer, more awake now. After pulling on his seat belt Owen started his car, and pulled out from the curb. "License plate number EDO1 SMP. Got that luv? Can you tell me where he stops?"

'Hold your horses, I'm not at work , you know." Tosh replied. There was shifting around on the other line.

"Oh come on Tosh, you can't tell me you can't get access to the hub's systems from home…" He shouldered the phone, and he turned the steering wheel and moved his car down the dark streets in search for the cab. Shadows stretched across the road and rolled over the passenger seat as he drove past mail boxes, parked vehicles and benches.

"Do you think I'd bring work home with me?" Tosh almost sounded like she was smiling. "Ok, hear you have it, Capital Cab, ED01 SMP is currently en route down Carloine street and heading toward Butle Terrace. I can't find any names on the fare registry."

"Yeah, I couldn't wrestle one out of her either. Ok, turning on to Carloine street and heading toward Butle Tarrace. " Owen looked out the window. Buildings passed him by and the streets were very quiet. It should be easy to spot the cab in a bit. Still he found himself tapping the wheel with his hand.

"Ok, it they're taking a right on Butle Tarrace, I think he's circling the block to get back on St. Mary's. You know the cabbies always out to make the trip longer for fares."

"Yes, yes, typical, money makes the world go round." Owen rolled his eyes. Where could she be going, home? If she had a home.

"Owen are you sure you don't want backup?" Tosh sounded worried. He could hear her moving around, likely getting dressed so she could join him. "I can get dressed and meet you there."

"No, no, Tosh, I'll be fine." Turn back on to St. Mary's, he saw the taxi far a head of him. He could take it from here, he thought, and decided it was best to end his conversation with Tosh. "All right. I'll let you know what I find. Thank you luv, see you in the morning." He clicked the phone shut before the woman could answer and shoved it in his leather jacket's pocket.

The taxi turned left onto Duke Street.

A moment later so did he, and he noticed the taxi stopped along the curb far ahead of him.

He saw the woman climb out and vanish behind a building along a side street. Quickly, Owen Harper drove past the Arcade and around the corner. He planned on pulling up alongside of her but to his surprise, he saw no one. He pulled the car to a stop and got out for a better look.

The street was silent save for the flickering of street lamps and the rustle of paper in whispering breeze.

She had vanished into thin air.

*&*&  
Captain Jack Harkness

Snowflakes gently drifted down onto the boy's face. He was bundled in a long coat and scarf and a cap sat on his head; he had his hands shoved deeply in his pockets as he tried to catch crystal white flakes on his tongue. His longer-than-shoulder length hair draped down his back and fell into his eyes as it dusted his heart-shaped face. It made Jack Harkness think of Gray as he was before he vanished.

It was universal: a snowy day always drew kids out to catch flakes on their tongues. Jack remembered doing it himself as a boy, so it didn't surprise him this kid had insisted they go outside, for a walk. The Time Agent gave a slight smile and watched the kid pull out a gloved hand and reach down and grab a heap of snow and mold it in his hands.

How he could insist on playing outside in knickers was beyond him; those argyle socks must have been layered, but for a moment Jack wondered if the kid ever caught cold. "You know, you're not dressed warm enough for this weather."

The boy smirked back at him and shrugged. "I don't mind the cold, better to feel it than not right? At least I know I'm alive."

Alive. Jack rubbed his hands together and glanced out beyond the courtyard. It was a cold December, and he could see the Bavarian Black Forest Mountains beyond the stone wall of the courtyard. They were up high, and he could see forests stretched out below, and creeping up the mountainside and fading into the gray mists of the landscape.

The courtyard was a garden with a stone fountain and orchard trees. It was large, and covered several acres until it reached the wall and cliff face. "Yeah well, if you catch influenza, you might not be alive for long." Jack warned walking up to the boy. "And no snowballs…"

"None?" The boy's face fell. He was small, a shade under five feet tall. Yet he was build solidly. Large, eerie golden eyes peered up at Jack and then the boy looked down, disappointed. "Don't security guards play? I mean, I thought you would. Hans and Gregor won't. They don't like me much."

Jack frowned, those names bothered him. "Well yes, we play but grownup games."

"I don't play grownup games." The boy said firmly. He shifted the ball from hand to hand and appeared crestfallen. "It's bad enough we're locked up here, and I have no one to play with and the only guy who seems nice enough to tolerate me is going to break my arm when brother won't do what he's told."

"Jeez, enough with the arm breaking business, kid!" Jack snapped, suddenly feeling guilty. He puffed out air. The kid was bright, he was trying to make friends with him, knowing he had orders to keep him in line. Well, two could play at that game and he honestly didn't like the idea of hurting the kid when he needed to get his trust. Jack Harkness knelt down and grabbed a heap of snow himself. "You know, this is called blackmail."

The kid shrugged. "Only because you're a nice guy."

Jack lifted a brow. If the kid knew why he was there, he might see things a little differently. He drew a breath, and tried to center his thoughts, there was no way he'd let the boy get to him. He had a job to do.

Still it didn't mean he couldn't have a little fun. "Nice guy huh?"

He threw the ball at the kid, who danced away, giggling and tossing his own snowball…

In the dead of night, Jack Harkness bolted up and started blankly at the wall. Beside him, Ianto murmured and nuzzled into his side as he latched on to his pillow. It wasn't a dream, Jack Harkness rarely slept, and when he did, it was often dark and empty. He drew a breath, and listened to the distant dribble of water in the distance.

It was a memory.

Setting his jaw, Jack Harkness dropped a hand on Ianto's shoulder for a moment of comfort. The Ghosts were restless.  
*&*&


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter 2**_

_**Secrets**_

Ianto Jones

"Yes Archie, subject 2640A." Ianto Jones said. He finished the fine tuning of his coffee machine and prepared the perfect cup of coffee. He added sugar and cream, and came out of the stone break oom and made his way to Tosh's station.

"2640A." The voice on the other end said. Ianto could hear the shuffle of papers and the sliding of drawers. Archie was indeed a very odd fellow. When normal people embraced the age of electronic filing he still used drawers and folders under a code likely only he understood.

Of course, Glasglow had files dating back to the 1870s, and to compile them into electronic format would take ages and more organization than Archie was likely willing to provide.

Ianto let his mind go back to the file he had memorized. "Yes, 2640A. Male, 16 years of age, 5 foot tall, pale complexion, blond hair, gold eyes, humanoid, level 5 security warning…"

"Hold your horses, will you! I've got a lot of files to go though. Are you sure he's in cryo storage?"

"I don't think you could fit him on a shelf." Ianto replied flatly. "And Torchwood One was transferring anything unrelated to the Void Sphere over to Glasglow until further notice."

As he talked, Ianto tried not to think of his time at Torchwood One. Even though his time there had been relatively pleasant, Lisa's loss still weighed heavily on his mind. Less than 23 months ago, he worked as a junior researcher there. Ultimately his title was just another name for gofer and organizer. And Ianto Jones was always very organized, which was why he was a little impatient with Archie at the moment. He would know _exactly_ what he was looking for and where to find it. The storage and files kept by him at Torchwood Three were meticulous.

While Archie was busily searching the records Ianto decided it was best to deliver Tosh her coffee and tend to morning routine in the tourist office above.

He wasn't surprised to find Tosh at her deck, studying the strange prosthetic arm left there the previous night. The small Asian woman was holding the arm in one hand, while bending its hand joints with the other, to get a closer look at the circuits under the magnifying light she had positioned over it. Intense fascination lined her brow and narrowed her lovely features yet failed to hide the delight and child like wonder on her face.

"Coffee, cream and five lumps of sugar." Ianto said putting the cup on the small table set up next to her high tech workbench.

"Did you see this?" Tosh asked excitedly. "I've never seen anything like it before! I believe these are refined carbon fiber filaments to control fine movement in the hand and wrist. I'm certain the design relies on embedded electronics to run on the electrical impulses given off by the nervous system and brain. It's absolutely amazing!"

"Glad to see you're well entertained this morning." Ianto smiled.

Archie was still poking around the files, but now he was mumbling about dates. "Any idea when subject 2640A arrived?"

"Anytime between February 4th 2006 and May 1st 2006." Ianto answered. He glanced at Tosh and mouthed the word "Archie."

"You mention the prosthetics?" Tosh asked. She pulled off her glasses and shoved a strain of hair behind her ear. "He would have a socket into which this fit surgically emplaced in his right shoulder, serving as a support and direct neurotransmission interface. He'd have another for his left leg… hmm, I'd say he'd also have some kind of neurological connection all along his vertebrae to coordinate the signals. I'd rather expect he would also have have his skeletal structure braced to support the bionics."

"Right." Ianto nodded as he started to move away from Tosh's desk. "Got that? Our technical support says he would have some kind of bionic interface surgically placed in both his right shoulder and leg and a neurological interface between both fused to his vertebrae. Maybe skeletal augmentation too."

If that didn't help narrowing it down, nothing would.

The shuffling stopped and Archie suddenly whistled. "Why didn't you say that before then? Cyborg, eh? Dinnae see many of those, now. Yes, I believe he'd be stored in bio-cybernetic storage bay alpha. Let's see, I'd find that right here." A drawer sliding and a moment later Ianto heard the rustling of paper. "Got it, subject 2640A, he's here all right. What would you like me to do?"

Ianto looked up toward Jack's office. With luck Archie wouldn't ask any questions. "Ship him here, for storage."

"If that is what you want. Anything else I can do for you?"

"Nothing I can think of. Than you very much for your time, Archie." Ianto replied. 'Have a pleasant morning."

After brief goodbyes, Ianto made his way up the steel mesh stairs to Jack's office. The older man, was, as always in front of his desk studying salvaged security videos from Torchwood One. Ianto had brought them up earlier that morning with Jack's coffee and bagel. It was dated February 6th and Jack was rapidly going though the footage, looking for anything that would be a clue to the arrival of subject 2640A.

Jack lifted his coffee mug and took a sip, and glanced in his direction. "I understand Tosh is pleased with her present."

"Ecstatic and speaking Orthopedic cyber-techno babble between squeals of joy." Ianto crossed into the room and came to stand in front of the desk. "Owen and Gwen are investigating a call from PC Andy Davidson. And I contacted Archie at the Torchwood Institute in Glasgow."

Jack paused the video he was watching and meet Ianto's gaze. "And…?"

"He's sending him here. Figured we needed to have the entire cyborg here so we could run the proper tests." He paused and watched Jack very closely. "Speaking officially of course."

Jack looked down and nodded. "Good work." He looked back to his computer and the image on it. "No luck here, I'm going to have Tosh have a look at it and see if she can find any editing. I have a feeling the footage I'm looking for was taken by Yvonne Hartman herself and destroyed with Torchwood One."

"Yvonne was very thorough in her record keeping; I could look in her personal effects for any clues." Ianto suggested. "I'll also look for other articles related to subject 2640A in storage. Unless he came though the Rift naked."

Jack lifted his brow. "And didn't appear in my office? What a shame."

Typical, even under the stress of his past, Jack Harkness was able to keep his sense of humor. Ianto Jones forced a smile. "Well, then good thing he didn't, he's a little young for you."

"Technically, Ianto, you're a little young for me too. Not to mention most everyone else." Jack laughed. He reached up and touched the younger man on the cheek, and Ianto found his face warming. "Did Gwen get a look at the prosthetics?"

"When she gets back." Ianto explained. "PC Davidson said it was up our alley so I suspect it will take a while. And, well, they're mates, so I suspect once she gets involved, she'll never let go."

They both knew Gwen Cooper had a tendency of bulldogging her way into a case. In many ways, it was what the team needed. Gwen's heart ruled how she did things, and she took what she did very seriously. Jack nodded. "Might be for the best. But we will see how things work out. Is there anything else I should know, Ianto?"

The young man thought about it. What he really wanted was for Jack to tell him why he woke up alone that morning, and what was on Jack's mind. He knew Jack was bothered about his past, and he was certain its ghosts were what drove him from Ianto's side that morning. But instead of pressing it, Ianto decided if Jack felt he needed to he'd come around to what was going on in his head and tell him when he was ready. Which could be never. No use being upset over something you really couldn't help.

"Other than I have some paperwork to do upstairs, nothing I can think of, besides having a fresh pot of coffee on."

"Good, let me know when Gwen and Owen are back."

He could do that. Ianto gathered up the empty plate on the desk and went to leave.

*&*&*

Ever since she started at Torchwood, Gwen Cooper had gotten used to grotesque crime scenes. Mangled and mutilated, even half-eaten corpses were routine now. The former PC stood in the middle of an alley, next to friend and fellow officer PC Andy Davison, looking over the remains of a homeless man and a dissolved garbage bin.

The alley was dark brick, wide enough for two wastebins, and ended with a brick wall. Boxes and bags lined the walls and back, and the body was sprawled between a large green waste disposal container and several smaller portable bins. Garbage was scatted everywhere, some fit foul smelling food products mixed with papers cans and wasted plastics. The body itself was wide open, its entrails, blood and tissue oozing out into the mess. The stench of decay filled the space and Gwen wasn't certain if it was from the garbage itself or the corpse.

"And your people already took photos?" Gwen asked, as she prepared her camera and started to photograph the corpse and surrounding crime scene.

"I can have them sent to your office as soon as I get back. So you think I called it right? It's one of your cases?" Andy asked, wrinkling his nose at the body.

"Our Coroner well have to get a closer look at the body, but it's very possible." Gwen told him. She paused at a bin beside the victim and wrinkled her nose. A large half-moon shaped chunk was missing, like someone or something had taken a huge bite out of it. Something about the edges looked… odd. "Now this is interesting," she said, inspecting the metal. "It's melted, and I don't see any scoring like one would get from fire or laser, looks more like acid to me; what do you think, Andy?"

"That's why I called," Andy told her. "I can't make heads or tails of it. It could be acid. We took a sample for the lab. I'll ship that to you too. Whatever it is, it's potent."

"Thank you, Andy." Gwen smiled, taking a few scrapings herself and sealed them in a test tube.

"From the position of the bins, there was a struggle," Andy observed. "Not much of one, though. "I think it overpowered our friend here quickly. I've talked to the people living in the building next door, they heard nothing at all and the body wasn't found until this morning when one of the waiters of the restaurant took out those bags over there." He pointed to two bags sitting in the front of the alley. "He called us immediately. The body wasn't there last night when the restaurant closed at midnight."

Gwen nodded, glancing at the building the bins were set against. There was a door close to the entrance of the alley. It led to the kitchen of Senior Valenti's Italian Restaurant. "All right, so the crime was committed between midnight and eight A.M.?"

"Seems so. I didn't let my Coroner move or touch the body. I called you immediately when I realize it was more you than us. You'd need a body temp to determine the time of death."

Gwen nodded, glancing back at the SUV parked at the entrance of the ally. Owen was still organizing his things while she poked around took photos and studied the corpse. "We should get that in the moment. You called it good, Andy." She added to her friend. "But I think you need to leave now and let us handle it."

She noticed the look on his face as it shifted from eager interest to disappointment. Ever since she had joined Torchwood, Andy and her seldom had moments to work together, and she suspected he missed it. "Let me know what I should look out for if it is anything important, all right."

She gave a short nod. It was very easy to mislead him. In all likelihood, Torchwood would take the case in question, find the killer, and deal with him or it before the night was through. The local police didn't need to be involved. "Goodbye Andy, and thank you."

The red haired police officer shrugged as he walked away. "Right, welcome. We _are_ on the same team, you know. Later Gwen."

Gwen inhaled uneasily. She didn't like lying to anyone but Torchwood needed secrecy. Even if she trusted Andy, she didn't want to break policy, or drag him into things that could get him killed, and quickly. "Take care, Andy" she called back, aware he was already gone. Behind her, she could hear Owen saunter up and drop his kit down beside her.

"Oh, what a lovely example of existential artwork. I thought it died in the '60s," he said with a faint smirk. "Must be a pleasant smell. At times like this I feel blessed being dead and having no working nose." He stepped around the garbage and glanced down at the body. "Looks like we have some cauterization, the bleed-out should have been worse. "

Gwen nodded, studying the spatter and photographing it. "Yes, I believe most of the spatter happened when he was on the ground. The guy who over powered him, was very large, I'd say about 400 pounds, and surprisingly agile for his size."

"And you got all that just by looking at some bloody foot prints?" Owen asked glancing at her.

"Foot prints, size of spatter, position and condition of the body, it all tells me the force that was used against the victim." Gwen explained, snapping a few pictures of the ground and a set of bloody tracks in the dirt that left the victim and vanished in front of the side of the building. "Now… where did he go? No marks on the brick wall." Gwen frowned. She looked at the fire escape. It appeared untouched.

"He could have jumped." Owen examined the wound. "Well, what we have is a male, about fifty years of age, and half eaten. Not a pleasant way to go if you ask me. Cauterization tells me the attacker had acid in his saliva."

"Make sense." Gwen reached and pulled down the fire escape.

"And where are you going?" Owen glanced up at her.

"To the roof. I have a hunch." Gwen said. "Be down in a bit."

She didn't wait for a response; Owen would be busy with the corpse for a while. She quickly climbed her way up the fire escape to the roof of the building and started looking for signs of blood transfer and tracks. The roof was black and had its share of dirt and gravel on it. Walking the length of the roof twice, she noticed there was scrape marks along the edge. Kneeling down, she looked over the side and found what looked like wear marks on the bricks and an area where the actual brick was broken away. Bloodstains were smeared on the edge; that told her the killer did indeed jump up, catch onto the edge, and scramble its bulk onto the roof.

The killer in question was superhuman. The former PC looked down into the alley, and scanned its length. The large bin was open and several bags were torn open and rummaged though. There was also a empty box set across from the bin tucked snug in the corner near the end of the ally, not far from the corpse. Tossed over the box was a worn blanket, like a door.

Gwen quickly photographed the side of the roof and the battered brick wall, bin, the alley and the box. She tracked the blood smears, snapping pictures of them on the way, across the roof and realized the killer likely jumped to the other roof to make its escape.

Activating her ear comlink, she called down to Owen. "Owen, check the box to your left, it has a blanket on top. I think our victim was sleeping in it, and was woken up by someone going though the garbage and then was attacked."

"You got all that on the roof?" Owen asked. "Yes, there is a blanket inside with a few trinkets. "So, what, you think our killer was knocking about the garbage looking for some nosh?"

"I'd say so. I don't think there was much of a struggle. I also think our perp jumped to the roof and ran. He didn't attack to eat our victim, he attacked to hide his presence."

"Not very bright then, leaving a bloody corpse is a hell of a calling card."

In her career as a cop, Gwen had came to the conclusion most killers weren't too bright for the most part, especially if they felt cornered and desperate, which was what this felt like to her. She crossed back to Owen and looked down at him as he finished his inspection of the corpse. "It does tell us a great deal about our killer though, he's shy, he's likely not humanoid enough to be seen, and he's very strong and dangerous."

"Yeah, well, he hasn't meet bloody Torchwood yet, let's see how well he holds up against us. We eat shy homicidal alien blokes like this for breakfast. Well, those of us who can."

This was one of the times where Gwen Cooper couldn't help but wonder how Owen Harper managed to plug on at day to day life, and still keep a sense of humor. If the situation had been reversed, she would have been driven mad. "Well, you can tell him that when we see him." Gwen joked. "Perhaps we can intimidate this one into surrendering peacefully."

"They don't surrender because we never say please." Owen told her. "Imagine how full our cells would be if we were bloody polite about it. "Mr. Weevil could you please not eat that poor sod, and come away with us peacefully and be locked in our cells in our dungeon under the city…"

He almost sounded sweet, and his tone made her laugh. "Even dead you're still crazy you know."

"Well a man has to be crazy to be dead and spend his mornings like this. I could be six feet under and taking a nice comfortable dirt nap, if I had any sense in my head. Guess it's not my time."

There was a hint of hurt and Gwen felt a twinge of worry. "We'll find a cure." She told him, hoping she'd lend him some comfort. "I promise. "

"And what, give up being the King of the Weevils? Nah, it's my fate luv, I go on until I run out and that's it, than I face the big black, but until then, let me do my job, which means, picking up this poor sod and getting back to base so you can have a lovely cup of Ianto's coffee."

"After I play Queen of Cardiff and go over these roofs." Gwen told him with a laugh.

"Well then aren't we Posh, King of the Weevils and the Queen of Cardiff." Gwen could almost see Owen laugh. "Well your high-ness, better get back to work, before my corpse starts to decay and we've got an even uglier mess than we have all ready."

Gwen Cooper shook her head and gave him a wave before starting her way across the roof. She suspected her roof-hopping wouldn't last long before she lost the trail. With luck she'd have a general idea where their alien friend went and could arrange a team to go in a capture him by that evening. All in a days' work, she thought, and decided she'd need to give Rhys a heads up, she hadn't thought she'd be home in time for dinner that night.

*&*&*

Toshiko Sato was worried she was hovering. Not that she was making it obvious, she just thought she'd take a quick walk over to medical and see what Owen was up to. In truth, she was curious and waiting just for the right moment to ask him about his little encounter with the mystery women he had had her trail but couldn't come up with an appropriate way to ask without sounding nosy.

So instead she stood up by the rail, looking down into the medical area, watching him conduct an autopsy on the body of the poor homeless fellow they had just dragged in.

It was hardly the time for pleasantries, she told herself as she looked down watching her friend and trying not to see the body, which was hard. She was never comfortable with this kind of work, and thought it was best to return to her station rather than watch the gruesome chore and strike up a conversation.

Yet, then again, if she left, she'd never likely work up the nerve to ask him why he called her in the dead of night so he could tail some woman he met at the pub.

"Morning, Owen," she started, feeling butterflies in her stomach. "So you weren't out too late last night I trust?"

The doctor gave a sigh and glanced up, striker saw in hand and offered her a faint smile. "Not too late. Hope I didn't spoil your beauty sleep."

"No, no, I was exhausted. Passed out soon as I climbed back in bed." Tosh lied. In fact, she spent the night worrying about her friend, and standing by the phone waiting for him to call back. She came to work early that day and hoped to catch Owen before he started on the clock.

The young woman brushed a strain of long dark hair from her face and leaned on to the rail. Medical was a roundish pit, really, with a curved stairwell wound its way down to the floor. Like all of Torchwood Three, the walls were made up of a polished off white brick, and the floor cement. Steel and glass cabinets stood against the walls and in the center was a grey steel door for storage.

In the center of the room was an empty examining chair. The corpse was placed on a metal gurney set up under a rotating light fixture in the center of the room. The dark-haired man reached over to the tray beside him, and placed the striker saw down, than returned to the corpse to pry its chest's open. "Oh, that's good. It was just a bit of a wild goose chase really. Not much came out of it. "

Tosh tried not to watch, yet still was very aware of the cracking of bone below. She knew he'd be secretive about what he was up to. It was likely a woman he met at the bar and wanted to spend time with. Not that he could shag anyone these days, but Owen Harper did have old habits she was certain hadn't died with his body. "So you couldn't find her? It sounded important last night, I thought you were in trouble."

She winced at the hurt in her voice.

"Tosh, she said something and I wanted to follow it up, that's all." Owen explained. With the chest wide open he looked up, and tilted up the protection visor he was wearing. "I wasn't looking for a shag if that's what you mean. Can't get the damn thing up, or get excited as a matter of fact. I'm not a glutton for punishment."

Now she had gone and done it. It was always best not to talk to Owen about these things because he was a psychiatrist as well as a physician and he could spot a lie and one;s motives a mile away. Tosh shifted and folded her arms uncomfortably. "I'm sorry, Owen, I wasn't accusing you of anything. I was worried, that's all."

"Oh." He raised a brow. "Well don't be, I'll be fine."

Peachy. Tosh nodded, and noticed Owen lean over and examine the corpse's internals. The conversation was finished, and she was certain, she wouldn't get heads or tails out of him until he decided to come clean with her and discuss the matter. With a sigh, the young woman shifted. "Well I'll be at my station when you're done," she said. She knew he heard, but wouldn't respond right away. He seemed to be engrossed. "Jack wants you to help me go over a prosthesis they found in storage at Torchwood One."

"Yes, yes the one Gwen has in forensics looking for trace. I'll get to it when I'm done here." Owen replied distracted. "Is that it Tosh?"

She nodded. "That's it, back to work. I'm actually searching the records for complaint made in the last few weeks of animals making a mess of the bins. Might be helpful."

"Good. Talk to you later then." Owen took a tissue sample and quickly made a slide.

The conversation was done. Toshiko Sato gave a frustrated sigh. "Very well."

Well, that went well. Defeated, the woman turned and made her way back to her station and her search.

*&*&*

_**2∑**____**(2000**__**√x**__** * πiLn(a/∑**__**0-∞**__** µ…**_ Numbers, flowed in and out of his thoughts, logarithms of extreme complexity and computations of seemingly infinite proportions filled his every moment. He saw, breathed, and lived numbers and formula. They were the truth, and the core to the existence of life, time and yet something, deep in his heart, told him there was something more to existence, the world was far more than the codes filling his mind.

The boy opened his eyes to golden bubbles and vibrating wires. He was floating in a confined space, and liquid filled his lungs, yet he could breathe. He felt nothing, and saw very little. The man with the strange blue eyes was gone. It was a woman now, one he should know. A face of familiar proportions and symmetry: it invoked terror and anger, and loss. When he fought the numbers, that face would smile and made him feel pain.

But beyond the bubbles, and beyond the floating sensations, the boy knew he was alone.

Alone with the numbers and the one memory he had as salvation. They tried to burn it away, but he held to it. There was always hope. He just needed help.

Help from someone the boy trusted.

He shivered, and closed his eyes; he needed to command the numbers, the numbers could do anything, makes things, bring things to him and to others, the numbers could help him…

And brother too; they could help brother. If only he could remember… But those blue eyes locked away those memories so only the numbers stayed with him. He was the Truth. He was the darkness inside of him.

But no, forget the cold blue eyes. He needed to… to find someone. Who? Who did he need to find?

Golden bubbles drifted around him like crystal sand in a current and he thought of a face. Smiling, laughing, lost, unpredictable, friendly face. Blue eyes… nice ones, not like the ones that burned.

Blue eyes…

Jack.

The memory of the man blurred with other faces, none that he could recall completely but knew they were faces of the long dead past. A woman, a girl, a man with gold hair, a dark haired man with a child, a tall grim man with a scar, so many people. It was an effort to refocus. He could barely see Jack now, too many images and formulas that followed them were in his mind, and numbers interfered with ordering his thoughts.

The numbers could be used to make things, change things, or move them, call them. He understood how to use them… when they didn't use him.

_Too much!_ He couldn't focus…

…it took hours of fighting the influx of information before he managed to master his own mind once more. Hours gone, just letting the numbers flow, change, define, create, destroy… he was now scattered and confused as to what he was doing. All he knew was he needed someone to find him, stop the numbers and the black things inside of him before the world changed. With all his will, the boy let his mind choose the equations, the parameters, shape the formula, begin to project it. But his efforts were greeted by a firestorm of agony that hammered away at his will.

Once more the numbers became deafening. For a moment he fought, and forced memories against the cold equations: sweet ice cream, the musky smell of the fairgrounds in the summer, child's laughter, his brother's warm arms, his mother's kiss, blocking the calculations, but the numbers ate away at his mind, he couldn't master them, not yet…

The numbers were why he still lived. They controlled all.


End file.
